Lawless
by UnicornPlate
Summary: Arthur is sent to the growing country of America against his will. When his good aim leads him into bad luck, the proper English man must entrust Alfred, a rowdy and unpredictable cowboy, with his life as they adventure across the Wild West. In a lawless land full of bandits, trainrobbers, gunslingers, and worst of all- Americans, what could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

Woohoo story #2! Writing this was really frustrating because I had typed it out ages ago and then lost it and then typed it out _again _and then lost half of it and then had to type the rest out on my frickin iPad. Eternal rage. I also apologize for this chapter being named "Chapter 1" lol. A glitch won't let me change it. I'll just stick the chapter name down there for the time being.

The wonderful artist of the cover has a Pixiv - his or her member ID is **242715** (I'm working on my own cover image atm)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia. I cry every morning because of that. Also, this story will most likely **not be 100% historically accurate. **I'll certainly try to do my best, though!

* * *

Good Shots and Bad Luck

* * *

Arthur gazed out the train window. _Wyoming, _he thought to himself. _A vast land containing absolutely nothing. _He sighed. He had not wanted to move to the growing country in the first place. His father, a very powerful businessman back home, urged Arthur to take on a ranch in America. After all, his family owned a good lot of them and Arthur's older brother, Scottie, had proved himself a worthy child when he had successfully operated their ranches in Texas. Now Scottie had set high expectations for Arthur and his father was more than ready to let his son go. "You're going to move to America, Arthur."

The young man in question knew he had no right to speak against his father, but he dared to question him anyway. "Pardon me, but why?"

"Because," his father said, "It's about time you learn about how us Kirklands sustain our high status and wealth. Your elder brother is currently faring very well in America, so there should be no reason for you to fail. That land holds opportunity, and I don't want to see you back here unless you've acquired new found success in your name and a wife in your arms, understand?"

"Yes, father. I understand."

The gentleman clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "Arthur, even though you are not the oldest, I don't want you to laze around like all the other chaps your age. Pull your weight. And while you're in the new country, remember that you are a British man and _not_ an American savage."

Arthur had almost forgot about the people inhabiting the virgin territory. Dreadful Americans. "When am I to embark?" he asked with false enthusiasm.

His father didn't sense the insincerity and smiled. "Next week," he said.

And here he was, dreading every passing moment in which he remained conscious.

* * *

The Briton lay awake in his bedroom. The young man never really liked his life. He figured that he had nothing to live for, no meaning in anything that he did, every smile being one of fake happiness. Arthur woke up every morning just because he had to, not because he wanted to. The young man did what he was told and that was it. He deemed his own life pointless and was never fond of living. Sure, he's prefer to be dead, but he didn't want to die.

Arthur ceased thinking those thoughts, figuring they were especially toxic late at night. He was slowly drifting into oblivion when sudden shouting pulled him back. He cursed as he grabbed the revolver on his bedside table. When he slid out of his door, Arthur's heart was already pounding. He crept toward the shouting and was soon close enough to take a proper glance at the source.

"I'm tellinnn ya, if I figure out that ANY of ya pissed in MAH drink, Imma send ya straight ta hell!"

"Johnny, buddy, calm down. None of us pissed in your drink. You're just roostered as can be."

"Now why should_ I_ believe in _you_ of aaalllll people, eh, Twisty?"

The other man grimaced.

"Don't call me that, Johnny. Now calm down, will ya? You're gonna wake the other fellas."

The other man grumbled in reply, but put up no fight. Arthur let out a sigh of relief when he learned that it was only his hired cowhands that were causing the trouble. He took one last glance at the two before making his way back to his bedroom. Johnny, the drunk one, was a short man with brown hair. Twisty was a taller blonde with spectacles. If anybody caused trouble that night, he knew who it would be.

* * *

"Hey, mister, wake up."

Arthur mumbled something indecipherable and turned his back toward the speaker.

The other frowned. He spotted a gun and smirked.

"I said," he declared venomously as he cocked the gun, "wake up."

Arthur felt something cold on the nape of his neck and made a noise of annoyance. His lagged thoughts finally caught up to him and he figured out why the noise sounded so dangerous.

"W-what on earth are you doing?" His green eyes were wide in panic as they stared down into the barrel of a gun.

The man on the other side exchanged his serious expression for a loud- and rather annoying, Arthur noted- laugh.

"What do you find so largely amusing?" Arthur growled with growing irritation.

The other man wiped tears from under his glasses. "That's the first time someone asked me what I was doing when I was about to shoot 'em" He de-cocked the revolver and tossed it to Arthur.

The Briton was clearly not as amused as the American in front of him. "Next time you pull something like that, I'll give you such a sound beating that you won't be able to laugh for weeks."

"Next time yer looking at the wrong end of a gun, ya should move instead of chat."

"Whatever you say, Twisty," Arthur smirked.

"Name's Alfred F. Jones, Mister... Uh..."

The boy was clearly struggling.

"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland. I'm your new boss, if you are not already aware. Keep in mind that I am not yet accustomed to your strange American greetings. Do not go around performing your odd morning rituals on me or I'll see that your career will end," the shorter man threatened.

"Mr. Kirkland! Right! Just some first day hospitality, ya know? Also, Twisty ain't my favorite name. If ya don't mind, please don't call me that."

"Alright, Mr. Jones."

"Aww none of that Mister Jones stuff either. That's my pa. And plus, there ain't no hero being called Mister so-and-so. I'm Alfred F. Jones, hero of the untamed West! But since yer so cute when you're scared, I'll let ya call me Alfred." He winked and gave Arthur a smile that could make a nun blush. Arthur himself was turning an obvious shade of red. Before he could stammer out a response, Alfred grabbed his arm and pulled him out of bed.

"Go get dressed, now. Gotta drive some cattle bright and early in the mornin'!"

* * *

Arthur sat on his horse by the river, overseeing the cattle and his cowhands. It was a bit hotter than Arthur was used to, but it was a nice day nonetheless. The long grass was greener than the image that the train window had provided. Tall trees that slightly rustled due to the gentle wind provided ample shade.

"Hey, there are some fellas coming toward us," a cowhand said.

Arthur directed his attention to the three figures advancing in their direction.

"Anybody recognize them?" He asked.

"Don't believe I do," another cowhand answered.

"Maybe they're cow rustlers," Alfred said as he removed his repeater from its scabbard.

Arthur put disapproving hand up to Alfred. "Maybe they don't mean any harm." Just as he finished his sentence, there was a loud pop and Arthur felt a bullet just barely miss his ear. It spooked the animals and the horses became jittery. He grabbed his rifle and prepared for a fight, as did the other cowhands. The three shady figures were shouting something, but Arthur's heart was pounding so loudly that he couldn't understand them. The other men were too busy readying their weapons. Alfred was the first to shoot back but cursed when he missed. Arthur took a deep breath and let his senses take over. Though he never really enjoyed the numerous hunting trips he was dragged to, he had a straight shot and was better than the rest of his family. Arthur accounted for the distance and aimed his rifle a little higher. He held his breath and pulled the trigger. One figure slid out of his saddle, a foot still dangling in the stirrup as the horse was sent into a panicked gallop. The two accompanying figures put their hands up in surrender, their shouting becoming even louder. Arthur kicked his horse and advanced toward the men, the other cowhands following right after him. As he neared, he could barely make out their faces. Even though he had only spent less than a day in the new area, he knew that the two men worked for him.

"Mr. Kirkland! It's us! We work for ya and don't mean ya any harm," one of them said.

Arthur steadied his irregular breathing. "Why the bloody hell did you shoot at us, then?"

The other man knit his brows. "That wasn't us, Mr. Kirkland. It came from behind us. We were yelling at you to tell you that Johnny was hungover so we were kind of late."

_Johnny,_ Arthur thought, _yes, the drunk one last night. _He looked at the two men. Neither of them was Johnny. That means...

"Oh shit," Alfred whispered.

Arthur's mouth went dry.

* * *

Arthur pursued the panicked horse in a full gallop. The horse was slowing down, allowing Arthur to match its pace and ride alongside of it. He couldn't get too close in fear of trampling the dangling body. Using his rifle, Arthur unhooked the foot from the body. It was a sickening sight.

A short man with brown hair.

There was no doubt the body used to be Johnny, but it was barely recognizable under all the blood and dirt. With a bullet wound in the left eye and smashed limbs from the ride, it was too much for Arthur. He felt nauseous. _I killed this man. _The cowhands caught up. _I killed this innocent man._

"Mr. Kirkland?" a voice whispered into his ear.

"Yeah, Alfred?" Arthur offered weakly.

"Now don't panic, bud, but when you hear a gunshot, kick your horse and get the hell outta here with me."

"What the h-"

A shot echoed through the air.

"Alright, boys," Alfred barked, "someone's tryna trip us up and kill us, ya hear? We're gonna look for 'em and make 'em pay for Johnny. You fellas go left, me 'n Mr. Kirkland are gonna go right. A couple of guys have to stay here and round up the cattle."

Arthur was too dazed to move, so Alfred slapped his horse and brought Arthur back.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

The American grinned at him. "Away," he said.

* * *

When they managed to get far enough to feel safe, Arthur slid out of his saddle and threw up. Alfred made a face of disgust and looked away as he talked.

"So... Um... Ya put a bullet in Johnny's left eye. Pretty deadly shot ya have."

Arthur wiped his mouth. "What the hell are we going to do now? What even was that back there?"

Alfred was a bit startled at the sharpness in the Briton's voice, but recovered quickly. "Ya shot him, Mr. Kirkland. Shot him dead. I figured ya wouldn't fare too well in jail. I know ya didn't mean any harm when ya shot him, of course. I dunno what the other fellas would've done because Johnny was one of them."

"Why'd you do it? Why'd you save me?"

The American looked up at the sunlight that pierced through the treetops. "Ya seem like a good guy. I'd hate it if I went to some foreign country and got arrested the next day for something like accidentally shooting some hungover cowboy. Besides, I didn't like Johnny all that much," Alfred chuckled.

If Arthur wasn't panicking, he probably would've laughed as well. Instead, he crouched down and cradled himself with his hands on his head. Arrested? Arthur couldn't even imagine going to somewhere as demeaning as a jail cell. He'd rather be dead.

"If ya did end up in jail," Alfred began, "you'd probably be killed. 'Lot of people don't like all ya English coming in. 'Land Vultures' is what they call ya. Once they figure out that ya shot Johnny, they'll be itching to hang ya."

"Well that wasn't quite the response I had wanted, Lord," Arthur mumbled.

"What was that?" Alfred asked.

"Nothing," Arthur responded. "Say, how did you know about that second gunshot- the one that let us get away?"

"I saw some hunters chasing a buck around. They had a child with 'em. The boy wasn't as good of a shot as you, that's for sure. Ain't ya a lucky one, Mr. Kirkland!"

In Arthur's mind, he was anything _but_ lucky. First he was shipped off -against his will- to America, and now he had killed someone and was on the run.

"I'm... I'm going to be a wanted man," his green eyes grew wide in horror. "People are going to be after me. Oh, for the love of God, people are going to want me _dead!_"

The American was dense, but he could still sense the panic growing in Arthur. "Uh, yeah, that's how things work around here."

The attempted offer of comfort didn't work. Arthur was breaking down by the second.

"Don't ya lose yer balls, Mr. Kirkland. Not yet, anyway. I'm gonna get ya outta here and I promise ya that nobody's gonna put noose around yer neck and hang ya like a limp dick."

Despite the state of utter despair Arthur was in, he still shot Alfred an odd look.

"Cowboy talk, Mr. Kirkland. But really, I'll bring ya to another town. I'll take ya far enough so that nobody will be looking for yer head, alright? Promise."

Arthur looked up at Alfred. "Really?" he asked, voice quivering.

"Really," Alfred grinned. "How can I be a hero if I abandon a damsel in distress?"

Arthur mock gasped and smacked the cowboy. "I am no damsel in distress, Mr. Jones! And if you continue to treat me as so, you'll be the one who needs saving!"

Alfred laughed. "Alright, alright. Yer a _beautiful_ damsel in distress. Does that suit ya better? And what did I tell ya about calling me Mr. Jones?"

A slight smile made its way to Arthur's lips. "It doesn't suit me as much as my fist would in your face, _Al-fred_."

"Ya really must love the idea of hurting me," the cowboy teased. "So, feeling much better, Mr. Kirkland?"

"A bit, yes. Thank you. I suppose you can call me Arthur," the Briton blushed slightly as he said this.

Alfred's face lit up. "Really? So that means we're friends now, right Arthur?"

Arthur blushed even more when he had heard this. Friends. He had as many friends as he did cooking skills.

"I, erm," he nervously scratched the back of his head, "never had a friend before." He thought about the other young men he spent time with while on his annual trips to London. Dreadful fellows. If anything, this fluky American would be worse. "No, Alfred, I will not tolerate calling a person who wakes someone at gunpoint as a friend," he declined.

Alfred stuck his tongue out. "Yer such a stick in the mud. No wonder why ya have no friends."

"I choose to have no friends, for your information! I quite enjoy being alone!" the Briton huffed. "Anyway, are you absolutely positive that you will take me to safety?"

"Real question is," the American said, "are you ready?"

* * *

**AN:** What old man Kirkland (lol Arthur's dad) was referring to when he said "I don't want you to laze around like all the other chaps your age", he meant that he didn't want Arthur to be like all the other younger siblings of wealthy families. The oldest brother usually did everything and the younger siblings just stood around and looked pretty.

Poor Artie. Killed a dude on his first day on the job. I hated writing that part, to be honest. I'm really excited to write the rest, though! Got some fun (at least to me) plans for this story!

roostered- drunk


	2. Wagon Robbers

Lol I got this chapter out super fast. Perks of being grounded over the summer.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

"Alfred?"

"Hm?

"Are we lost?"

Alfred gazed out at the endless miles of sand and shrubs. After burning through more cigarettes than the American could count on both hands, the boys were, in fact, lost.

"Nawww!" Alfred snorted.

Arthur glared at Alfred but gave up when he had realized that Alfred was as sensitive as a chopped off finger. They rode at their easy pace, leisurely walking in the hot Wyoming sun. Arthur began to wander in his thoughts, steadily recovering from the shock of the murder he had committed. He thought about the eagle in the air, envying the aura of independence that radiated from it. He envied the freedom it represented, the freedom he so badly wanted. He thought about his life in England and how he resented it. Sure, it was nice to be rich and pampered, but his family life was far from satisfactory. The Kirklands had more money than they knew what to do with, and with that came more expectations than they knew how to handle. Consequently, Arthur was forced upon standards that he hated. He didn't mind the sports or even the hunting, but he absolutely despised the enormous pressure his father put on him to carry on the Kirkland name. Arthur never felt any actual love from his parents, only love for his position in society. He had been raised to love his achievements more than himself._  
_

"As I was a-walking one morning for pleasure,"

Arthur snapped out of his trance.

"I spied a cowpuncher a-riding along."

He stared at the American with knit brows.

"Whoopee ti yi yo!"

"What the blazes are you singing?"

"A song." Alfred inhaled and bellowed out, "Git along little dogies!"

His voice startled a few birds on the ground into a frantic flight.

Alfred smirked. "It's your misfortune and none of my own!" He yelled after them. He turned to Arthur. "Next line's yours, bud."

"I'm afraid I don't know the lines to your little composition," he declined.

Alfred pouted. "Aww c'mon, Arthur! Ya gotta! All cowboys know this song!"

"Since when was I of your breed?" Arthur retorted.

"Since... Since... Since ya pissed on that cactus three cigarettes ago!"

"You're impossible," Arthur sighed.

"Blah blah blah my-name's-Arthur-and-I'm-a-stupid-asshole-who-refu ses-to-sing-with-his-devastatingly-handsome-friend ."

Green eyes widened in offense. "You take that back, you bloody yank! I am no 'stupid asshole' nor are you my 'friend'."

"Sing with me, stupid asshole," Alfred grinned.

For a few milliseconds, Arthur was taken aback by Alfred's seemingly perfect smile, but recovered quickly. "I told you, I don't even know the words. And who gave you permission to address me as 'stupid asshole'?"

Alfred ignored the question. "Okay! I'll teach it to ya!" He cleared his throat. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies! Now you say it!"

"Don't assume that you can just tell me what to do, Alfred. You do know that I practically own you," the Englishman declared with a superior tone.

"We won that war a long time ago. Ya don't own me, ya _pay_ me. Now quit being such a stubborn 'ole mule and sing with me."

"Fine," Arthur gave in, "Err, uh, whoopee ti yi... Yo... Git along little dogies," he half-heartedly recited.

"Don't be so reluctant, bud. Ya gotta sing it!"

"This is ridiculous."

"C'mooonnn!" the cowboy whined.

"Whoopee ti yi yo!"

"Louder!" Alfred encouraged.

"Alfred, I'm not used to yelling like that. It's an irritating American trait," Arthur protested.

"What? Can't hear ya, yer talking loud enough for only yer butthole to hear."

Arthur sighed.

"GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES!" he hollered.

Alfred gave Arthur a huge smile that was apparently contagious, for Arthur was grinning in no time.

"For you know Wyoming will be your new home!" Alfred sang with a grand finish, sending more birds up in the air.

He and Arthur laughed for no apparent reason. For once, Arthur felt good. He had never sang, yelled, and laughed this loudly before, and he felt good.

* * *

The two men settled down and made a small camp in the sea of dirt and shrubs. Alfred stretched out on the ground and rested his head on his hands. Arthur shedded his overcoat and sat on it. They remained in a comfortable silence with only the fire speaking in crackles as they gazed upon the stars.

"Help! Help!"

Arthur was annoyed by the sudden break of peace. "Alfred, what the hell are you saying?"

"That wasn't me."

Both of them looked around for the source and reached for their guns. The cries for help grew louder, but it was too dark to see anybody.

The scene was all too familiar in Arthur's mind. He jerked his hand away from his rifle, not wanting to shoot someone innocent again. The bitter taste of vomit made it to his throat, but he managed to push it back down and control himself. The yelling intensified until they saw arms flailing ahead of them. Alfred cocked his repeater and aimed.

"Please! Help me! They've got my brother and I don't know what to do!"

Alfred continued to aim and Arthur remained frozen and conflicted.

"Slow down, boy! Ya better not come running up here unless ya want to get yourself shot! Walk up to us where we can see ya," Alfred commanded.

The other voice was talking between sobs. "I'm sorry... I just don't know what to do and they've got Lovino. Please... You have got to help me! I don't have money or anything but I'll do whatever it takes to save my brother."

The light of the fire revealed a young man with auburn hair with a wild curl sticking out and a tear-streaked face. Alfred kept his gun aimed.

"Yeah? What's yer name? And where ya from? Did someone send ya?" Alfred questioned.

"I'm Feliciano Vargas. My brother and I came here to earn some money for my family back in Italy. Please, mister, you have to help me get Lovino back! He's all I have in this big, scary country!"

The American took a few moments to analyze the stranger, his blue eyes scanning him for any potential danger. "Anybody send ya?" He asked again.

"N-no, not to you, at least. My grandpa sent us to America with all the money we had left," the Italian sniffled.

It seemed believable. Alfred lowered his gun. "What happened to yer brother?"

Feliciano's eyes started to well up again. "Bandits! Lovino told them to 'fuck off' and that they were 'money stealing bastards' and they took him! I couldn't chase them because they took our wagon, but I was able to sneak off. I know which direction they went in. I can show you if you come and help me!"

Arthur relaxed when guns were no longer being pointed at anybody. His heartbeat eased and he let out a breath of relief.

"We'll help ya!" Alfred offered, without even consulting the other.

"Excuse me, but who granted you the right to make decisions for me?" Arthur shot.

The American pouted. "Please, Arthur? Ya gotta! Why'd ya come to America if ya ain't gonna take up any chances for adventure? And plus, I'm a hero so I have to help. What are ya gonna do if I leave? Sit here?"

The Briton used all the strength he had to resist the self-proclaimed hero, but he caved. Arthur wouldn't admit it, but he thought that Alfred's pouting face was too cute to reject. Instead, he came to a conclusion that the cowboy's persuasive skills were blessed by some sort of odd magic. "Fine," he sighed.

Both Alfred and Feliciano's faces lit up. "Really?" they said in unison.

Arthur could barely believe what he was about to say. "Really."

* * *

"Okay, Feliciano, where'd ya say they were headed?"

The three of them were riding in darkness, only being aided by the moon and the stars. Feliciano rode with Alfred, seeing as he had no horse.

"Um, over there." He pointed to the north and they charged onward.

After a few minutes of galloping, Alfred motioned for Arthur to slow down. In the distance, they could hear whooping and hollering.

"Bloody Americans are so loud," Arthur mumbled to himself.

"Is that them?" Alfred asked the person behind him.

Feliciano made a noise of affirmation and the three pushed on.

When they were close enough to see them, the runaway wagon had come to a stop. The three boys left their horses a few yards away so that the creatures would be undetectable. As they crawled in closer on their stomachs, they strained their eyes and ears. The wagon was surrounded by people. They seemed to be celebrating their capture, for they sang and danced about. But one thing struck Alfred and Arthur as odd.

"They're all women," Arthur said.

The wagon was, in fact, surrounded by women. Their voices were higher than the boys had expected and a the wild flapping of dresses and skirts gave their genders away.

"Well shoot," Alfred said, "I can't fire at a bunch of ladies."

"You could take a shot at their wagon and try to scare them away," Arthur offered.

"No! Don't!" Feliciano cried.

Alfred and Arthur exchanged confused looks. "Why not?" Arthur asked.

Feliciano looked around nervously. "Well, um," he began, "the wagon is full of explosives."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Alfred whispered, "Explosives?"

The Italian nodded.

"Ya sure yer saying the right word? Explosives? Not tomatoes or rabbits or anything? Like things that go 'boom'?"

Feliciano nodded again.

Alfred's face lit up as Arthur's fell.

"That's amazing!" Alfred exclaimed. "Where the hell did ya manage to get explosives? And why are ya stuffin 'em in your wagon?"

Feliciano was taken by surprise by the American's excitement. "Lovino and I work for a man who wanted these delivered. And uh, one more thing... The women are armed."

To Arthur, that was enough information to make him want to leave. "Well, looks like there's nothing we can do, Feliciano. I'm truly sorry about your brother, but we can't shoot the women nor can we shoot the wagon full of bloody explosives. I'll be well on my way now, dear. Goodbye." Arthur got up from the ground and turned to leave.

"No!" Feliciano cried.

"Wait!" Alfred said right after.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Look, I'm actually very sorry about the state your brother is in, but like I said, there's nothing we can do."

"What if," Alfred said, "What if there _was_ something we could do? Devise a plan of some sort, ya know? Not everything has to be solved with guns."

The Briton was skeptical. What a surprise. Who knew that Americans could solve problems without involving a firearm? "Yeah? They have weapons, Alfred. If we don't shoot them, they'll shoot us. What are we going to do? Woo them into giving us back the wagon?"

Arthur's sarcasm was answered by two pairs of determined eyes. He really didn't like where this was headed.

"What?" he asked nervously.

* * *

Arthur was walking toward the very wagon he had learned to hate. _How did I manage to get myself into this? _He took a few more nervous steps forward. _I'm no savage American. I'm a well born British man, and I should not be subjected to this kind of treatment. _Despite his inner protests, Arthur continued to put one foot in front of the other until he was facing the group of confused women.

"Erm, hello, ladies," Arthur coughed.

He did a quick count. Seven. Seven pairs of eyes full of curiosity and danger assessed him. One of them spoke up.

"What you doing here, cutie?"

Even though they addressed him in a way that was meant to flatter him, Arthur only felt violated. The all too familiar feeling of fear crept into him as his heart beat faster. What was the plan again? What was I to say to them?

"Hey! Scone bastard! Help me!" a male voice from inside the wagon cried.

_Scone bastard?_

"Someone shut him up," a woman, whom Arthur assumed was their leader, barked. "Now, what exactly _are_ you doing here?"

Arthur could hear the wild protests between the man in the wagon and the woman sent out to silence him.

"I'm lost, to be honest. I figured that I needed some gentler company than this rough land. Hopefully you ladies are willing to provide me with some," he recited as genuinely as possible.

"Isn't it pretty weird that you're out here all alone without a horse?" the leader questioned with hostility in her voice. Arthur mentally slapped himself. Of course it's strange. How would he have gotten there in the first place?

"I, um, about that..."

The woman took a step forward. "Yes, what about that?"

Arthur was almost positive that she could hear his pounding heart. "It died," he quickly added.

The woman stood in silence and stared at the Englishman for what seemed like forever. Her brown hair swayed gently in the wind as her green eyes pierced through his.

"Do you have money?" She finally asked.

Arthur exhaled in relief. "Yes, a lot of it."

* * *

Soon enough, Arthur was surrounded by the women, only this time they were out cold in a drunken slumber. He had not drank any alcohol himself, claiming to want to remain sober in order to remember a night with such beautiful ladies. The man inside the wagon had not spoken since Arthur had arrived. When he assumed it was safe, Arthur called out, "I'm a stupid asshole," to signal Alfred and Feliciano that the coast was clear.

The two came running as silently as possible. Alfred looked like he was about to fall over from laughing. "I can't believe ya actually said it," he said.

Arthur slapped him, but Alfred continued to laugh. Feliciano, on the other hand, was too busy retrieving his brother.

"See? What did I tell ya? Women like these love British folk," Alfred beamed.

Arthur ignored him and went to help Feliciano. The wagon was, indeed, full of explosives and a very angry Italian boy. Arthur concluded that he was Lovino. The two brothers were rapidly speaking in Italian, so Arthur figured he wasn't needed and exited the wagon.

When he looked outside, his eyes widened. Instead of only Alfred, there were now two figures in the dark. One held a gun up, and the other held hands up.

* * *

**AN: **A lot of British immigrants were surprised by how loud Americans were. They thought it was weird that American women laughed out loud instead of quietly behind a hand like British women did. Also, cowboys were known to have measured trips by counting how many cigs they burned through (kind of like how many songs it takes for us to get to school)

Anyway, I dunno how long it'll take to type out the next chapter. I'll try to get into a routine of a somewhat established update time. Gotta get crackin on summer assignments, as well :c

blazes- hell


	3. Bargains

I rewrote this chapter like 20 times because I wasn't quite satisfied with it. Well, here it is! Three chapters in three days. I really love writing this story

**Disclaimer**: I am not Hidekaz Himaruya so I don't own Hetalia

* * *

"I won't be fooled," the leader of the bandits spat.

Arthur counted the women that were passed out. Six. He cursed under his breath. She must've held her liquor better than the rest of the women. How could he have missed one?

Alfred backed up a few steps. "Sorry, miss. I believe you're mistaken."

Stalling, yes, Alfred was stalling. Arthur had to do something before the woman pulled the trigger, but what? He frantically looked around but found nothing of particular use. He had given his knife to Feliciano to hold and his gun in his saddle bag, but not like he was comfortable using it at the moment.

"Mistaken? I know a good-for-nothing cur when I see one," the woman said.

The Briton slowly crept back into the wagon. He motioned for Feliciano to come closer. "Pass me my knife and keep talking to your brother," he whispered. Feliciano did as he was told with a worried look. Arthur made his way back outside the wagon. With his heartbeat racing, it was difficult to sneak up on the woman, but he managed. Alfred's eyes darted toward him for a split second.

"What the hell are you looki-" the woman went to turn.

"Whoowee! Ain't ya a pretty one? Ma would be damn proud if I brought ya home," Alfred interrupted. It seemed to work, because the woman turned back around and slapped him. Arthur took this as his chance to make a move. He took a swift step forward and-

He heard the chilling '_click'_ of a gun behind him.

Fuck.

"D-dontcha tryyyy aaanything, pretty boy," a slurred voice threatened.

Alfred let out an audible sigh and Arthur put his hands up.

"Yeeeahh that's right. Drop yer knife too, will ya?" the voice behind him commanded.

Arthur did as he was told, getting more nervous by the second. The bandit leader pistol whipped Alfred and pushed him onto the ground. She stepped on him to keep him from running and kept her gun aimed.

"What are you two tryna pull?" She glared at Arthur while she said this. The two Italian brothers poked their heads out of the wagon. "If you have any sense of self-preservation, you'd stick your heads back into that wagon and mind your own business." The discovered boys retreated into the vehicle.

Alfred used the distraction as a chance to flip over and pull the woman down. The girl behind Arthur aimed at Alfred and pulled the trigger.

"Shit," she cursed as the bullet missed Alfred. Arthur swallowed thickly. Everyone was still for a moment.

Alfred reached for his repeater, but girl shot again, this time barely missing him.

"Go fer that gun again, mister. Next time I-I'll shoot yer buddy over here 'n I wooonnn't miss."

Arthur stared at Alfred and prayed on his next move. The cowboy sighed again while the woman picked herself up. She took his repeater, tossed it, and proceeded to kick him several more times. She yanked him up by his hair so that he was kneeling and commanded him to put his hands up. With no choice left, Alfred obliged.

"Yer a rough one," the cowboy coughed.

"Shut it, cur," the woman said. "Instead of skinning you two on the spot, I'll give you a chance to redeem yourselves. You there, British boy," she glared at Arthur before continuing, "you're rich, right? What you paid us tonight was more than just a pretty penny, and you didn't even take your hat off to play with us. How about we make a bargain? You bring us six hundred dollars and we'll let your little cowboy go. Take that coward in the wagon with you, but we get to keep the younger one. That should sweeten the deal a bit. Meet me at the middle of Silas Canyon by this time tomorrow, and don't even think about bringing any sheriffs or what not. We'll shoot you and both of these boys if we find any lawmen sneaking around."

Arthur nodded, not knowing what to say. Were all American women this frightening? These women had accents, though. Either way, the pounding of his heart barely let him hear the woman's words. He walked to the wagon, the girl stumbling behind him with her gun ready. When Arthur peered inside, the two brothers were huddled together with terrified expressions.

"Which one of you is the younger one?" the Briton asked.

Feliciano looked up. "That's me," he said.

"Come with me," the girl said.

"No, please! I'll do whatever you want! Just let me stay here with my brother!" Feliciano begged.

"Don't play around, now, booyyy. Come here or I'll shootcha."

The sniffling Italian reluctantly pried himself off of his brother's grip and made his way toward the girl. Arthur took this time to finally see her face. He was surprised when he learned that she had a very youthful appearance. What was a girl this young doing with a bunch of bandits?

Lovino shouted protests when his brother was taken away, but was silenced when the gun was pointed at him.

"Pretty boy is gonna fill ya in. Go on, now. Git outta here."

The pair, accompanied by the supervision of a fully loaded pistol for half of the trip, walked away from the scene until they reached the horses Arthur and Alfred had left behind.

"What the devil happened back there? Why'd they take my _fratello_? What did you fucking do, eyebrow bastard?" Lovino's eyes were brimming with tears.

First scone bastard, and now eyebrow bastard?

Arthur took a moment to organize his panicked thoughts. Six hundred dollars must be brought to Silas Canyon, which he assumed was the nearest canyon, in twenty four hours. If not, who knows what will happen to Alfred and Feliciano. Did he really need to do it, though? After all, he had just met them.

"And who else was with you? Those psycho strumpets were yelling at two people, weren't they?"

"I had someone with me," Arthur responded. When he had heard his own voice say it, he immediately felt ashamed for thinking about abandoning the two. Arthur was the reason that Alfred was in this mess in the first place. The American had given Arthur a second chance, so Arthur should at least return the favor. _A true British gentleman would repay his debts_, he thought. But where would he acquire six hundred dollars? All the money he had was given to the bandit leader. He could perhaps borrow money from Scottie..._  
_

"Lovino, how far is Texas?"

Lovino practically exploded. "Texas? Why the devil are you thinking about Texas? You're just going to run away, aren't you? Abandon my blasted little brother with those whores? Fuck you, _stupido_!"

"No! That's not what I meant! They're holding Alfred and Feliciano hostage and refuse to release them unless I bring six hundred dollars by tomorrow. I have a brother in Texas who could possibly lend me some money and-"

"Texas is too far, eyebrow bastard. It's all the way across the goddamn country!" Lovino was crying again.

"My name is Arthur Kirkland, for your information, and I am no bastard! I was born a legitimate child in wedlock and I will take none of your bloody insults!" Arthur huffed, momentarily forgetting all of his troubles when faced with the personal attack yet again.

Lovino glared at him behind tears. "Alright, Arthur _Cunt_land. Did your big fucking eyebrows tickle your mamma's vagina when she gave birth to you?"

Arthur took a deep breath to calm himself down. "Do you want to get your brother back, or would you much rather insult me for the rest of the night?"

The Italian pouted and sniffled in response.

"Thought so. We need to find a way to get the money. Do you know anybody kind enough to lend you a few hundred dollars?"

Lovino wiped his tears. "This is America, _amico_. Nobody is kind."

* * *

Arthur and Lovino hid behind a wooden building.

"Are you positive that this will work? One hundred percent certain?" Arthur peeked his head out to assess his surroundings. It was early in the morning and the sun had just risen. The two men were absolutely exhausted after staying up most of the night strategizing and searching for the nearest town, but there was no other time slot available for them to execute their plan.

"I told you already, Cuntland, I don't fucking know." Lovino also stole himself a glance from behind the building.

"_Kirkland_. Kirk. Land. Ugh, never mind," Arthur sighed. "Oh! There they are!" He pointed at a stagecoach. It had two men in the front, one driving the horses and the other armed with a shotgun.

"Alright, here goes, well, _everything_." Arthur took a deep breath and strode into the middle of the dusty path. _You have got this in the bag, Arthur. All these years of watching theatre will finally pay off._

He bent down to pick up absolutely nothing. When he straightened up, he was faced with four large horses and a screaming stage driver. Arthur dove out of the way at the last second and started to yell.

"Oh, how my body aches! But my heart, my heart aches with tenfold intensity than that of my broken limbs! Come, noble stage driver, bless me with the company that my soul has yearned for since I was a young lad. Quickly, before I breathe my last!"

Lovino smacked his forehead. What a fucking idiot. The stage driver was apparently an even bigger idiot, for he was rushing to Arthur's side.

"I'm so sorry, mister! Did my horses hit you? Vash, will you watch the stagecoach for a moment, please?" the stage driver said.

"Ja," the coach gun responded, not caring about Arthur's injuries.

Lovino rushed out to the scene. "Mr. Cun-_Kirkland_!" he corrected, "Mr. Kirkland! Are you alright?" He squatted down next to the stage driver, placing a gentle hand on Arthur's cheek.

"L-Lovino... My little Italian... erm... sausage."

Lovino slapped Arthur. Really? _Sausage_? He could've chosen any pet name in the whole wide world and he stuck with _sausage_? "Sorry," he smirked, "I thought I saw a fly already feasting upon your soon-to-be rotting flesh."

Arthur shot a quick glare at him before resuming his performance. "Heaven be thanked, Lovino! God is already sending his cherubs to escort me away!"

The stage driver looked up to search for said cherubs.

"I'm pretty sure he's going to escort you straight into hell with those acting skills," Lovino murmured loud enough for only Arthur to hear.

"Ah, they are pulling me up, gentlemen!" Arthur raised his arm as if he were slowly ascending. He then jerked it to the right, hitting Lovino harder than necessary. This sent the young man crashing into the stage driver.

"What is this?" Arthur proclaimed, steadily lowering his arm, "the Lord has given me a second chance. He says that an unbelievably handsome chap, such as I, should spend more time on the earth to grace others with his presence."

Lovino rolled his eyes.

"Bless my soul," Arthur continued, "I've been healed!" He sprang up and shook the dazed driver's hand. "Thank you, my good man, for allowing me to experience this truly amazing event." He tipped his hat to some giggling women and skipped away. When the two were safely behind a building, Lovino socked the Briton in the gut.

"What the blazes was that for?" Arthur said, clutching his stomach.

"For being a bastard!" Lovino spat.

"Very well, then." Arthur returned the favor and Lovino was soon clutching his stomach, as well.

"What the devil what that for?" the Italian hissed.

"For being a bastard."

"Say what you want, Cuntland, but take a look at this." Lovino fished out a shiny key from his pocket.

Arthur's eyes grew large. He looked at the key and peeked out from behind the building to look at the stagecoach.

"Are we really going to do this?" Arthur asked, already knowing the answer.

"Hell fucking yeah we are."

* * *

**AN**: oh man, I love writing Arthur and Lovino. Way too much fun, especially with 19th century swears

strumpet- whore

blazes- hell


	4. Blood and Determination

Lol it took me _two_ days to update this time. I changed the rating to T. It's more likely to change back to M than not, but whatever. I'll change it when the time comes.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters

* * *

"Fourteen Mississippi," Alfred counted.

The pleasant morning sun was slowly transitioning into the brutal afternoon one. After many failed attempts at flattery and escape, Alfred and Feliciano sat on the ground, defeated and tied to a tree. Feliciano had long stopped crying after he had run out of tears. His ramblings were reduced after the rope restricted the use of his wild hand gestures.

"Fifteen Mississippi," Feliciano continued.

"Seventeen Mississippi," Alfred said.

"Alfredo, what's the English word for _diciotto_?" Feliciano asked.

"I dunno, does that mean 'cactus'?"

"Ve~ cactus Mississippi."

Alfred absentmindedly watched an eagle soar through the air. "Hey Feliciano?"

"Yes?"

The cowboy looked around. Five of the seven women were scattered across the top of the canyon, keeping watch and ready to fire. The leader and the girl from last night remained at the bottom.

"Do ya think Arthur and Lovino will pull through?"

"Of course they will! Well, I know Lovino will at least try. He's kind of a crybaby and a wuss, but if he put his mind to something, he can do it. I just hope your English friend helps Lovi, because my fratello can't do much by himself."

Alfred remained silent in thought. What if Arthur _did_ pull through? Would he be able to live with his premeditated plans knowing that Arthur had saved his life after knowing him for a day? He knew that getting attached to these sort of people would eventually leave himself hurt, but this man was different. Sure, Arthur was stubborn and slightly in love with himself, but the Briton managed to make Alfred feel guilty about what he had heartlessly done to many people before. If he felt this bad after a day, how bad would he feel about it after two days? Three? Four? He decided not to delve into it and to cross that bridge when he got there.

"So," he changed the subject, "What state is Italy in?"

* * *

"Did you see that coach gun, though?" Arthur nervously checked the stagecoach for the billionth time.

"Yeah I fucking saw him. Scary looking bastard," Lovino said.

Their plan was advancing full speed. The stage driver was beginning to panic and frantically searched about for his lost key. The boys needed another distraction, one that would even lure the indifferent coach gun away. They had hoped that the coach gun would at least shift his attention to Arthur during his performance, but they had no such luck. They were stuck, or so they thought until a young girl walked by.

"Big brother, you're back!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, hello, Lili. Are you finished tending to the goats?" Vash asked.

The two boys watched the exchange with growing hope. Though they couldn't quite hear what the two were saying, Arthur and Lovino knew for sure that the girl would serve as a good distraction.

"Yes, big brother, they have been taken care of. When you are finished working, would you like to come to the market with me?" Lili asked.

"Of course! That is in a different town! I wouldn't let you go alone," the coach gun huffed.

The girl giggled at her adoptive brother's protectiveness. Vash had immigrated to America around the same time as Lili. He arrived alone from Switzerland and Lili came with family from Liechtenstein. Her parents contracted yellow fever and died, leaving her abandoned in New Orleans, barely knowing English. Vash found her on the verge of death and took her in. They journeyed together to start a new life further north. Ever since Lili had contracted yellow fever herself, Vash became extremely protective, not wanting the only thing he had in the new country to slip away. Though she had recovered some time ago, her brother wasn't going to allow another chance for something to take her.

When a bullet grazed Lili's neck close enough to break skin, Vash instantly jumped out of his seat and cocked his shotgun. "Bleiben hier," he commanded as he shoved his sister into the bank behind them. All around were people screaming. Even the stage driver was in a panic. A few men ran to retrieve their checked-in guns from the Sheriff's Office.

On the other end of the gun, Arthur was rapidly breathing. That shot was too close. The six-shooter he held was the only one they had found in their horses' saddle bag. As of now, it only had four bullets left in the chamber. Lovino was already walking toward the stagecoach, masked by the confusion of the town. Vash had his back against the side of it, waiting for the shooter to reveal himself.

"This is a no-gun town," the sheriff shouted, "Come out with your hands up!"

Vash being the exception of the rule, the sheriff and other townsmen searched for the offender. Meanwhile, Lovino tried to think of a way to lure the coach gun away from the vehicle. He was looking around for an answer when he spotted the girl from earlier peeking out a window. _Forgive me, dolcezza. _Lovino picked up a stone, hid behind a water trough, and chucked it at the girl. Lili screamed and Vash shifted all of his attention to her. Everyone else had their eyes set across the street toward the origin of the gunshot, away from Lovino. The Italian didn't waste any time and dashed to the stagecoach door. He opened it, dove inside, then shut the door as quietly as possible.

From behind a building, Arthur shot again, this time aiming at a window on the general store next to the bank. He needed to cause more ruckus. Time was running out. More armed men came spilling out onto the street, searching for Arthur. People didn't forget about the stagecoach, either. Soon, bankers wielding shot guns surrounded the vehicle with an undiscovered Lovino still inside. Even the stage driver managed to recover and was standing among the bankers.

_I have to get them away from the stagecoach. If Lovino exits and they see him, we're done for, _Arthur thought. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of a solution. Instead, he thought of when he had shot Johnny. What was he doing wielding a gun again? He could kill someone. But yet again, he could also save someone; he could save Alfred.

The scene played over in his head. As much as he tried to push it out, his mind betrayed him and took him to the very moment that he saw Johnny's bloody face. Then it struck Arthur. There was a way out of this. Mustering up as much courage as he could, the Englishman steadied his trembling hand and took a shot at the jittery horses. It was a shot to miss, but it sure did work.

Inside the stagecoach, Lovino unlocked the strongbox. Inside were stacks and stacks of money. _Fucking shinplaster, _he thought as he tossed aside the bills of lesser value. _C'mon, you bastard, where are you?_ He at last found the stack he was looking for. A smile stretched across his face as an expressionless Abraham Lincoln stared back. 'ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS', it read. Lovino was shaken from his glee when the stagecoach suddenly lurched forward. "What the fuck?" he let out before promptly covering his mouth, remembering that he wasn't supposed to be there.

Arthur's plan worked. The shot had startled the horses and sent them in a wild gallop. The bankers frantically chased after the runaway stagecoach, but couldn't catch up. Even Vash was trapped in the confusion as he tended to his bleeding little sister. _Two bullets left_, Arthur thought.

The formerly peaceful town was in utter panic. The townsfolk were starting to hone in on the origin of the shots, so Arthur had to move fast. He slid to the other side of the building and kept his gun ready. Jogging into the middle of the chaotic town, he casually slipped a, "back of the buildings are clear," in his best American accent. Though it came out sounding like he had recently learned how to talk, nobody noticed due to their state of dismay. That is, nobody but Vash.

Cocking his shotgun, the Swiss stormed straight toward Arthur only having one thing in mind. He had pieced everything together. Vash had never seen the Briton's face until that day. Why would he care about this small American town? All he cared about was causing a disruption in Vash's already difficult life and trying to walk out scot-free.

"Hey, English bastard," he growled, "get out of my fucking home."

"Vash!" Lili shrieked, "Vash! Look out!"

Vash turned around to face a frantic Lovino trying to drive the stagecoach out of the way. The coach gun managed to jump away, but not completely. He shouted out in pain when a horse trampled his leg. Vash was far from giving up, though.

He forgot the searing pain in his leg.

Arthur momentarily locked eyes with the person on the ground a few yards away.

The Swiss raised his gun. The clouds of dirt thickened and made it harder to see his target.

'_Next time yer looking at the wrong end of a gun,'_

Lili ran to Vash's side, but the young man paid no mind.

'_Ya__ should move instead of chat.'_

A bullet shot out of the barrel.

"Big brother! Oh, you are hurt! _Bist du in Ordnung? Kannst du mich hören_?"

Vash didn't respond. The dust settled, revealing...

... _Nothing? Where did the Englishman go?_

Said Englishman was sitting on the runaway stagecoach, screaming. His left bicept had a fresh four inch gash as a parting gift from the bullet that grazed him. Sharp pains in his right shoulder were a consequence from being yanked up at the last second by Lovino. If Lovino hadn't pulled Arthur up, he probably would've been shot straight in the heart. The Italian was too preoccupied to notice the severity of Arthur's wounds. He stretched and latched onto the nearest horse. Shots were being fired at them, but none of them landed.

"What are you doing?" Arthur yelled over the beating hooves.

"Trying... To get... A horse loose..." Lovino panted.

"Do you have the money?" Arthur asked.

Lovino nodded in affirmation and started to move forward. He pulled on some leather straps connecting the horses and got one free. He promptly got to work on the strap on the other side. "You'd better do the same," he suggested.

Arthur bandaged his wound with his cravat and moved so that he was behind the horse next to Lovino. He gulped and lunged forward, but slid to the side so that he was practically being dragged.

"Quit fucking around!" Lovino yelled.

Arthur tried pulling himself up, but his injuries made it difficult. His left arm was covered in blood, but he had to keep pushing.

"I didn't know the British were such fucking Marys!" Lovino managed to undo the next strap, setting his horse free. "C'mon, Cuntland!"

_That's right_, Arthur thought, _I'm a wellborn British gentleman, and I refuse to die in such a cruel land_. With one very painful pull, Arthur was on top of the horse. He undid the right strap, but couldn't manage to undo the left strap due to his injuries. With one less horse pulling, the stagecoach was now going slower and the bullets were coming closer.

"Goddammit, Cuntland! Hurry the fuck up!"

Arthur aimed his revolver at the strap. The action sent pain racing through his arm, which caused him to flinch and miss his shot. He cursed and tried again, this time expecting the searing pain. He pulled the trigger and released the bullet. It sent the leather strap flying and his horse free.

The boys weren't completely off the hook just yet. Several men mounted their horse and took off after them. "The strongbox is still in the stagecoach!" Arthur yelled at them. It seemed to work because a few of the men shifted their focus to the runaway vehicle which was now going to other way. Three men stayed to pursue Arthur and Lovino.

With every bump shooting pain through Arthur's arm, holding the reins became extremely difficult.

"Dammit, just ride using one blasted hand like everyone else does!" Lovino said after noticing Arthur's difficulties.

"I don't know how!" Arthur cried.

"Well you better figure out before you can never ride again!"

The Briton moved the reins into his right hand, leaving the one holding the gun free. The three men were a few hundred yards away, but the boys were still not at ease. They cut through a corral and galloped toward the plains. That left the cattle in disarray, which would serve as a good obstacle for their pursuers.

Vash and Lili watched the pair escape. He grit his teeth, but relaxed them when Lili put a firm hand on his shoulder. The young man looked at his sister, surprised by the sudden gesture. Her face was a mess of blood and tears. "Don't worry, big brother," she spoke with an unusually dark tone, "I will make them pay."

* * *

The boys didn't have any chance to relax. The cattle caused two of the men to get stuck, but one remained hot on their trail. He was slowly gaining ground and continued to fire shots. "Can't these tarnal horses go any faster?" Lovino complained. "Hey, Cuntland, are you gonna fucking shoot the asshole or what?"

Arthur turned around and aimed, wincing from the pain. He pulled the trigger but it only resulted in an empty click. _Shit_. "I'm out!" he yelled._  
_

"Fucking hell!" Lovino groaned, "Is this how we're going to die? Fuck this country! All it's given me were shitty food and shitty people!"

There was a moment of ceasefire. Arthur looked back to see the man reloading his gun. With all the fight he had left in him, the Englishman turned his horse around and galloped straight toward the man. _I'm not going to die here, _he reminded himself.

Lovino pressed onward, but continued to yell curses at Arthur. What the hell was he doing?

Arthur was closing the space between himself and the other man. The man looked up from his gun and was faced with a bloody and determined Briton. Arthur summoned up all the strength he could muster and threw his revolver. He didn't hit the man, but he sure did hit his target. The horse bucked and sent the man flying off his saddle.

The Englishman spent no extra time with the man on the ground. He turned his horse around and made his way toward Lovino. The man continued to shoot at Arthur. A bullet sank deep into his horse's flank which made it fall. Arthur was thrown off its back and landed on his left arm. He screamed out in pain, but the man showed no mercy. He kept on shooting at Arthur until he ran out of bullets again. The Briton tried crawling away, but stopped when he heard a bloodcurdling scream and the sound of bones cracking.

"Lovino?" he whispered in fear.

When he turned around, his eyes didn't meet with Lovino's. Instead, they were faced with a pair of violent green ones. Atop the horse was a little girl. Her short blonde hair displayed clumps of red and the top of her dress was stained crimson. She cocked her shotgun and aimed at Arthur. "For my big brother," she said.

* * *

**AN:** The term "riding shotgun" actually originated in this era. It was because there was always a guy armed with a shotgun sitting next to the stage driver whenever money was being delivered.

diciotto- eighteen

Bleiben hier- Stay here

shinplaster- money of lesser value

Mary- effeminate homosexuals

tarnal- equivalent to 'damn'

dolcezza- sweetheart

Bist du in Ordnung? Kannst du mich hören?- Can you hear me? Are you okay?


	5. Second Thoughts

*****IMPORTANT*****: If you have been following this story before this chapter was published, I have made a few changes to the previous chapters. Scottie is now Arthur's older brother (I missed that and fixed it) and Arthur rejected Alfred's invitation on becoming friends in the first chapter. ***Arthur does not yet consider Alfred a friend and told him that he preferred being alone.

I'm _eternally_ sorry for being such a fuckass and changing the plot, but I pretty much thought about it every night and it bothered me so much that I had to do it. I'm really really super duper sorry! Like so so _so_ sorry!

Also, I made some minor changes on Lovino's language and made it more 19th centuryish. I also made very slight changes to Alfred's language, as well. They don't change the story, but just a heads up.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia

* * *

Lili's green eyes pierced through Arthur's. She took some time to examine his terrified expression, savoring every second of it. _This man is evil, _she thought. Why else would someone hurt her big brother? The siblings had already lost both of their families. Why would someone make everything harder? _This man must die_, the girl concluded, her finger gently stroked the trigger.

Her glare was broken when the two delayed men approached her side. "It's alright, little girl, leave the dirty work to us," one of the men said as he cocked his gun and aimed at the Briton. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to witness his own death. His mind rapidly played through events during his life. He thought about his home on the countryside and his annual trips to London. He thought about his family and how he should've treated his youngest brother, Peter, better. Lastly, he thought about his hired cowhand with the strange vocabulary and captivating smile, the American who had valued Arthur enough to give him a second chance at living. He thought about Alfred and how odd the man made himself feel. Two shots echoed through the dry Wyoming air.

"Kirkland!" Lovino shrieked. His call was met with silence.

* * *

The two captives were allowed some breakfast. The girls giggled as they fed them, amused by the boys' liveliness.

"So what's your name, darlin'?" Alfred asked as he swallowed a bit of roasted rattlesnake.

"Vi," the woman feeding him responded.

On the other side of the tree, the bandit leader was feeding Feliciano. He chewed on the rattlesnake meat without hesitation.

"You're so nice!" he chirped. To the boys' surprise, the leader turned out to be very kind. Despite her headstrong attitude and steel determination, she had a big heart. It seemed like a lot of women in the group were the same.

"What are fine women like ya'll doin' in all this robbery nonsense?" Alfred questioned.

"That is none of your concern," the bandit leader responded, "You should be worrying about your friends and praying upon their return."

Alfred was trying to do the exact opposite. He half hoped that Arthur would abandon him, making him feel less guilty about his intentions with the Briton. He could just find him, make up a crazy story about his escape, and continue on with his plans knowing that Arthur didn't care about him so neither should he. But what if Arthur _did_ care? Would the cowboy be able to neglect his feelings after knowing that Arthur wanted Alfred to stay with him?

Vi watched Alfred's expression sadden. "Do not worry," she comforted, "your friends will arrive soon."

Alfred didn't respond. He didn't know what to hope for.

* * *

Arthur only saw darkness and only heard a piercing white noise. He lay on the ground and remained still.

"Kirkland!" Lovino yelled as he galloped toward the man. His eyes grew wide at what he saw. There, on the ground, was three dead bodies.

"Holy shit," the Italian whispered.

"Your friend is not dead," Lili said.

Lovino almost fell off of his horse from the sight of the bloody girl. "Pardon?" he quavered.

The girl fixed a stony gaze on the man. "He is not dead, only scared. These last two bullets were meant for you both," she said as she pointed at the two bodies, heads blown off and beyond any recognition, "but I could not let other people see me kill you."

Lovino was speechless. "You killed these men," she continued, "You were the ones who shot and trampled them. You will be wanted in this town and towns miles away."

"We didn't-"

"Dead men tell no tales, mister. If you disturb my and my big brother's lives again, I will stop at nothing to permanently silence you."

The Italian looked at the bodies again. He was sickened by the dark red stains on the ground and the pink spillage from where the skulls used to be. Lili turned her horse around to head back to town, bloodying her horse's hooves again as the mare stepped on the trampled body.

"Which is better, mister, a life of fear or no life at all?" The girl took off before Lovino could answer. As the thumping of hooves grew quieter and quieter with each passing moment, Lovino slowly recovered. He slid off his horse and collected guns, ammunition, and anything else he thought would be helpful from the dead bodies. "_Mi dispiace, amico,_" he apologized as he trifled through their pockets. He went over to Arthur and shook him. "Hey, Cuntland, get up."

Arthur didn't even look up.

"Get the fuck up, eyebrow bastard. You're not dead."

At this, Arthur opened his eyes. He blinked in surprise and fearfully whispered, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm one hundred percent positive. Let's go." As he turned to mount his horse, Arthur spoke again. "You're shaking," he said.

Lovino looked down at his trembling hands. When he noticed how terrified he actually was, he promptly broke down into tears.

"Lovino... What happened?" Arthur asked with growing worry. He got up from the ground and scanned the area for an answer. What lay in front of him was much more than he expected. "Oh Lord," he whispered.

"Say, Cuntland," Lovino quaked, "Which is better, a life of fear or no life at all?"

The face of the trampled man stared at Arthur with empty eyes, his gaping mouth silently screaming out his answer.

* * *

After Lovino filled Arthur in about what had just occurred, the two men continued in silence. They rode the stagecoach horse until they had reached their own and exchanged the creature for the saddled ones. With no rest or food, the men were drained of all their energy. Arthur was especially weakened due to his blood loss. They had to press on, though, for the sun was setting and the day was coming to a close. After what seemed like an eternity of riding, they finally reached the mouth of Silas Canyon. The dark orange glow of the sky was being pushed out by purple, and the boys knew that they had to hurry up.

The men reached a lake and stopped for a quick and much needed break. Arthur painfully pried his clothing off his wound and washed the dirtied blood off of his skin and ruined attire. He carefully wrapped the torn flesh with a handkerchief. Lovino was the first to break the long silence. "We really did it, didn't we?"

Arthur rung the water out his coat and watched his blood stain the clear water. "We really did."

"Damn. All for my stupid little brother and your stupid friend."

"He's not my friend!" the Briton protested.

Lovino looked at him, surprised. "So what is he? Your sodomy partner? I mean I knew some American men got a little frisky with each other, especially those rugged kinds. What were the buggers called again? Vaqueros?"

Arthur almost hit him in offense. "I do not participate in such vulgar actions! He is simply just a man helping me."

The Italian brushed him off. "Helping. Right. Whatever, I'm not interested in who you screw, anyway."

Judging that there was no use in arguing, Arthur turned and continued to clean his clothing. With his upper body being covered by only a waistcoat, he felt exposed and out of place. This country had brought significant change to the Englishman, despite his short stay. He had become a murderer and a bank robber in two days. Arthur longed for the comfortable and relatively easy living he had in England, but would he ever be able to return after damaging his reputation and abandoning his ranch? Would he be able to face his parents with failure and withstand their criticism and judgment? After the past 48 hours he had spent in America, his past troubles seemed to minimize as new ones outshone them.

"We better get going, Cuntland," Lovino reminded.

"Ah, yes, just a moment," Arthur replied. There was doubt in the back of his mind, though. Did he really want to leave this country? After all, it had introduced him to a whole new range of feeling and excitement. Whatever held him back would have to wait until later. He laid his wet clothing over his horse's withers and set off for the center of the canyon.

* * *

The women were perched on top of the canyon, ready to fire at anything undesirable. Only the leader and the young girl stayed at the bottom. The sky had long since grown dark. The moon illuminated the area.

Rapid pounding of hooves brought everyone's attention forward. The leader cocked her gun. "Who are you?" she called out.

"It's us!" a voice called, "We have the money!"

Alfred perked up at the familiar accent. _He came back_.

The boys came closer. "We have the money," Arthur repeated. The leader examined the boys. They were obviously tired. The Englishman looked like he went through hell and back.

"Let me see it," she commanded, keeping her gun aimed. Lovino produced six one-hundred dollar bills. The woman took them and examined them. "Michelle, untie them." The young girl obeyed and undid the rope that held the boys.

"Oh man, I need to piss like a racehorse!" Alfred said as he turned around and urinated. Feliciano apparently felt the same because he did the same thing.

"Sorry, ladies, but I've been holding that in for the entire day," a now relieved Alfred said.

Lovino dismounted his horse and ran to Feliciano. "Oh, fratello, I'm so glad to have your stupid ass back! Spending time with that cockchafer Cuntland over there was way too much for me to handle!" The brothers cried in each other's arms.

"I missed you too, Lovi. But you came back for me! You actually did it," Feliciano sobbed.

"Arthur," Alfred said, "you..."

"Returned?" the Briton finished. "It was nothing, really."

"Nothin? Look at yourself, bud, ya look like ya got trampled by a bunch of steer!"

"What a charming man you are," Arthur sarcastically replied.

"Was this all for us, Arthur? Did ya really go through all that for us?" Whatever Arthur's answer would be, Alfred knew it would hurt him in some way.

"N-no, of course not!" the Briton huffed in embarrassment, "Don't get me wrong, Mr. Jones, it's not like I did is for you two! I simply did this because it is a, erm... Gentleman's duty! That's all!"

Alfred was disheartened by his response. But that was good, right? At least it would make his job easier.

"Quit lying, eyebrow bastard. Your face is as red as a goddamn tomato! I can even see it in the tarnal dark," Lovino accused.

Arthur's face grew even redder. "P-Pardon me? I do not lie, Lovino! I am well above the status of men who do!"

"You're clearly lying, Englishman," the smiling bandit leader interjected.

"Bloody Americans and their absurd accusations," Arthur mumbled to himself.

Meanwhile, Alfred's stomach tingled with happiness. "I knew ya cared!" he laughed. Behind his joy lay a pool of bittersweet sadness. _He cares_, he thought.

"Get going, now. I don't want to see any of your faces in the near future, you hear?" the leader said with a stern but good hearted tone.

And with that, the boys were off. Lovino and Feliciano were given their wagon back since the women figured the dynamite was too dangerous to travel with and the leader had a soft spot Feliciano. Alfred tied his and Arthur's horses to the back of the wagon and traveled with the brothers, allowing Lovino and Arthur to sleep while Alfred and Feliciano chatted.

"Where are you going after this, Alfredo?" Feliciano asked.

"I was gonna go to Gilpin County in Colorado, but I dunno anymore."

"Ve~ if you ever want to drop by for a visit, Lovi and I will be in Missoula."

Alfred smiled and gave Feliciano a friendly slap on the back. They talked like this until they reached the mouth of the canyon. Alfred turned around to wake his traveling partner. Arthur and Lovino unconsciously snuggled up to each other while they were sleeping. "Ve~ looks like they got along," Feliciano said. Alfred went to shake Arthur awake, but stopped when he saw something bloody tied on his arm. He untied it as gently as possible. When he peeled it off of his skin, it revealed a deep gash. Arthur gasped from the pain but remained asleep. _Did he do this for me?_ The cowboy tied the cloth back on with trembling hands, Arthur turning away in his sleep. _Can I really do this to him?_

* * *

Feliciano waved at the American. "Ciao, Alfredo!"

He watched the wagon leave until he could see no more of it. He had to carry Arthur, figuring that he would've thrown a fit if woken up by Alfred again. The cowboy looked over at the sleeping man, wondering what he was to do with him. He confused him. Sure, the American was easily baffled by a lot of things like submarines and people from the East Coast, but nobody made him feel as confused about himself as Arthur had.

Coming to a conclusion that trying to figure everything out would only leave him more confused, Alfred decided to turn in for the night. He allowed himself to drift away, but his blue eyes flew open when he heard grass rustling.

"Arthur," he called nervously. The Briton was sound asleep. "Arthur, wake up," Alfred said as he shook the man. "MmmgrmmpissoffPetermycookingisgreatmmrrr..." he grumbled as he swatted Alfred's hand away. The cowboy turned to his horse. "Freedom, girl, please. Ya know I don't like being the last to fall asleep," he begged. The mare didn't respond.

The man sat up and cocked a gun that Feliciano gave him. "I d-don't like to talk to d-dead people, so don't come up tryna scare me or I swear on my m-ma that I'll pump ya full of lead," he threatened. The rustling happened again and Alfred nearly jumped. "I'm a c-c-cowboy, dammit, I'm one of the t-toughest g-guys out here," he reassured himself. When the rustling happened a third time, Alfred shot the area he saw it in. The noise woke Arthur and both of the horses.

"My goodness, what the dickens are you doing?" a now fully awake Arthur asked.

"There was a thing! And-and it was making noises and sneaking around and-"

The cowboy stopped short when a vile odor filled his lungs. "Oh shoot," he said.

"What's that horrible smell? Alfred, did you soil yourself?" Arthur questioned as he covered his nose.

"What? No! I think I shot a skunk," the other responded.

"What on earth is a skunk?"

"It's a real smelly son of a bitch. We should shin out, bud. It ain't gonna get any better."

The men got up to discover that their horses were way ahead of them. When Alfred got up, he noticed how Arthur staggered. "Are ya okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm just a bit dizzy is all," Arthur assured.

When they traveled far enough to avoid the odor, Arthur practically collapsed on the ground.

"Ya sure yer alright? Ya look like yer about to lay down the knife and fork," Alfred said. Arthur tossed him a questioning look.

"Cowboy talk," the American said, "Ya look like yer about to die is what I meant."

"Now that you mention it, I don't think I've had anything to eat for the past day."

Alfred's jaw dropped in shock. "How can ya go without eating for a whole day?"

Arthur shrugged weakly. The American would not stand anybody starving. He himself could barely make it without food for an hour. How could someone go through that kind of torture?

"Here," the cowboy said as he pulled out a pouch from his horse's saddle bag, "Michelle gave it to me. She said she was sorry for bein' such a scalawag last night."

Arthur took the man's offering. "Michelle?" he questioned as he peered inside of the bag.

"The drunk girl with the gun and the brown hair and brown skin," Alfred explained.

"Oh, her," he recalled with distracted indifference. "Alfred, what exactly is this?" The Englishman smelled the contents.

"Squirrel."

"Lovely." Despite the sarcasm dripping from his words, Arthur was so hungry that he devoured the meat quickly.

"So how'd ya get that mean lookin' cut on yer arm?" Alfred asked.

"I was shot," Arthur responded. The cowboy's blue eyes bulged at this. "No way! Proper Mr. Arthur Kirkland managed to get himself a lick from a bullet!" he hollered.

Arthur's face started to redden. "What's it to you, American?" he spat out in embarrassment.

"Just yesterday ya were scared outta yer own bottom from killing someone, and now ya done something that got yerself shot at."

Arthur thought about that. Something in him had changed. It did seem like he was afraid of his own shadow when he had arrived in the country, but whatever that was had left when he had robbed the stagecoach.

"I, unlike a certain cowboy I know, have never killed someone purposefully. I am a gentleman and no savage," the Englishman declared.

"Didja meet another cowboy when ya got yer money?" Alfred asked with genuine curiosity.

"I was talking about you," the Briton clarified.

The other man pouted in response. "I'm a gentleman!" he huffed.

"A gentleman of four outs, that is."

Alfred tried to think of a witty response. "Well you're a Nancy boy!" he rebuffed.

Arthur's eyes widened in offense. "This 'Nancy boy' robbed a bank stagecoach and almost died for your sake!"

The American's jaw dropped. "Ya _what_?" he asked.

"I robbed a stagecoach," the Briton repeated.

The cowboy was stunned. The man had stolen from an armed stagecoach to free Alfred. The man had taken a bullet for Alfred. The man who was too proper to sing loudly had broken the law and risked his life for Alfred. The American started to feel the bittersweet feeling rise up in his stomach again. He pushed it away as best as he could and focused on the matter at hand.

"How'd ya do it?" he asked.

"There are very few things that an Englishman cannot do, Alfred. With some hard work and determination, even the most incompetent people can accomplish the most amazing things, not that I'm incompetent or anything. I'm actually more capable than one would suspect upon meeting me. Anyway, with just enough willpower-"

Alfred's short attention span was running thin. "Arthur?"

The man shot Alfred a chastising look. "It's quite rude to interrupt a gentleman when he's speaking, you know. Also, I don't know what the customs are here, but I'm sure that using vulgar language in the presence of a lady is frowned upon. I had noticed how you and Lovino were rather comfortable tossing around vile terms such as 'piss' and 'goddammit' like it was nothing. Even though those women were certainly not high class, it is rude for a man to- "

"I have no idea what yer running yer trap about," Alfred interrupted again.

Arthur rolled his eyes. _Americans_. "Lovino and I robbed an armed stagecoach. We acquired the key to the strongbox by utilizing my amazing acting talent and Lovino's pick pocketing skills," he explained. The Briton went on to tell the full tale of his adventure to the eager cowboy. Arthur noticed how childlike Alfred was once his attention was caught, occasionally uttering an excited, "didja _really_?" and, "ya got out alive, right?" It made Arthur rethink fleeing back to England. He had never had someone to hang on every word of a story he told. He had never had someone to do something for, to rob a bank for, to overcome a fear of shooting guns for. Previously, every action Arthur did was ultimately for his own gain. He was used to being selfish. But when Arthur began give up on his life, Alfred came in and made him want to try again. Alfred made him do things Arthur normally would have found insensible. What had this boneheaded cowboy done to him?

The two kept talking until Alfred nodded off and gave into sleep. Arthur looked at the man and wondered, did he really want to return to being alone?

* * *

**AN: **Arthur didn't know what a skunk was because skunks are not found in Europe (lucky them). Also, it wasn't rare to have cowboys engage in homosexual actions with one another.

But hehehehehh what's sneaky little Alfred up to?

Mi dispiace, amico_- _I'm sorry, friend

tarnal- equivalent to 'damn'

shin out- run away

gentleman of four outs- a vulgar, blustering man that claims he is a gentleman

Nancy boy- effeminate homosexual


	6. Hero's Duty

I just dropped my iPad on my face and frick it hurt. Kind of a fluffy chapter. I think.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia

* * *

Alfred was the first to wake. He got up, stretched, and looked at the sleeping Englishman. He was curled up on top of his coat to avoid sleeping directly on the ground. Judging from sun, the boys had slept until midday. Alfred chuckled at the man and let him be. Who could blame him for being so tired after such a long day?

The American mounted his horse and set off to go hunt for something to eat. He returned, started a fire, and cooked the rabbit he had shot. He thought about his plans for the future. The resolve to carry out his previous intentions with Arthur was slowly fading. If he wasn't going to go through with it, what was the cowboy going to do? Run around America forever? Alfred assumed that Arthur would want to go back home eventually, so that wouldn't work. Why did the stuffy Englishman have to mess with Alfred like this? The cowboy ran a hand through his blonde hair and sighed. He'd deal with it when the time came.

"Good morning, Alfred."

The American nearly jumped at the sudden noise.

"Jesus Christ, boy, ya nearly made me piss myself!"

Arthur yawned. "I suppose that could serve as pay back from when you woke me from gunpoint," he smirked as he looked at Alfred sleepily.

"Ya know, yer cute when yer not yelling," Alfred teased.

The Briton didn't know whether he should feel offended or flattered, so his words just came out all jumbled as his cheeks heated up. "I do not- who gave you the right to- Alfred F. Jones!" he stammered out.

The cowboy just laughed his irritating laugh and grinned. "And now yer back to yelling."

Arthur sat up and mumbled to himself about the 'bloody cowboy and his blasted laugh and stupid smile'. Alfred suddenly remembered something and dug around his pocket. "Feliciano gave this to me to give to ya," he said as he tossed some folded up bills to the Briton. "Said somethin' about his brother having some extra money so Feliciano wanted to split it with ya as a thank ya gift."

Arthur counted the money and it came up to seven-hundred dollars. "That was nice of him," he said.

"Is it enough for a ticket back home once we get ya outta this mess?" Alfred asked, feeling slightly saddened by his own words.

"Yes, it could purchase a ticket and more." To the cowboy's surprise, his stomach fell. _Why do ya care so much, Alfred? At least this way ya won't be tempted to hurt him_, he thought to himself.

"But," Arthur continued, "I'm not entirely sure if I would like to leave just yet."

Alfred perked up at this. "I would love to take a better look at this country, really," Arthur finished. It was true that the country was not as comforting and safe as his home across the pond, but America seemed to bring out a different side of the gentleman. He almost never felt the rush of excitement and adrenaline course through his veins in England where he was expected to be proper and high class. Here in America, he felt freedom and even rebellion. The country had spiced up his dull life and brought him the adventure he didn't quite ask for, but he certainly needed. After he had gotten over the shock of being shipped out of his roots, the Briton started to appreciate the new things that America had to offer.

"I'll take ya all around the great 'ole United States!" Alfred volunteered. He didn't know why he was so happy to be able to spend more time with Arthur, but he didn't really care, either. When he felt the joy surge throughout his body, he made his decision. He couldn't bear to hurt Arthur, not after what he had done for Alfred. But that pain still had to go somewhere.

Arthur smiled. "Alright, consider yourself hired."

* * *

"Finally! A town where yer not wanted!" Alfred exclaimed.

Arthur sighed. "Please do not shout that so loudly."

"Well after a month of Sundays, I started to think that ya were wanted all the way to New York!"

Before, the men had come across several towns plastered with wanted posters displaying a man with eyebrows that took up about half of his inaccurately depicted face. Still, the boys had decided it wasn't safe to loiter around, so Alfred pulled down all the posters and set off for the next town. Several days had passed after they were chased out of a town with both of their wanted posters, and Arthur was itching for a bed and clothing that didn't smell like Alfred's kind.

They walked into a saloon and Alfred hailed the bartender. "Yeah, hey, can we get some of the free lunch here and some coffee later? Thanks." The owner nodded and went to go fetch the orders.

"Free lunch?" Arthur asked.

"Don't got that in England? It's where they give ya free food. Shit kinda makes ya thirsty, though, and that's where they get yer money. Gotta watch out for that before ya find yourself drunk on the floor and callin' yer grandma's name," Alfred chuckled.

Plates full of smoked herring, salted pretzels, and steak. Out of custom, Alfred ordered two additional beers.

"This food isn't bad." Arthur chewed on his steak and took a sip of his beer. That wasn't really saying much, since they have been solely relying on what they could capture in the wild.

"Really?" Alfred said in between bites, "Most Englishmen hate this stuff. They say it ain't fresh, but hell, tastes good enough to me."

Arthur nodded and continued to eat. Alfred managed to grab himself a newspaper and skimmed over it.

"Hey Arthur, take a look at this!"

Arthur leaned over to read the headline.

**"BANDIT PROSTITUTES STILL AT LARGE: TRAVELERS BE AWARE"**

The Briton almost spat out his beer. The drawing underneath resembled the women that had taken Feliciano and Alfred hostage. He proceeded to read the article.

"Well, what does it say?" Alfred asked.

Arthur looked at him in surprise. "Can you not read?"

The American shifted uncomfortably. "Naw, I'm no good at reading. I only know enough words to fill a cigarette."

"I'll teach you when we get the chance," he promised. Alfred's blue eyes lit up when he heard this.

"Now about the article," Arthur continued, "You know those women that stole Feliciano and Lovino's wagon?"

Alfred nodded his head.

"Turns out they have made quite a name for themselves. They were originally prostitutes, but then decided to pick up a life of thievery. The leader has a good amount of money on her head, four-thousand dollars, to be exact. Her name is Elizaveta Héderváry," Arthur explained.

The cowboy leaned in, engrossed in the story. "Really?" he said, "We made a deal with a bunch of lady criminals?"

Suddenly, the ragtime music stopped playing and the pianist practically crashed into the two men. A few other men turned to look at the ruckus. Arthur and Alfred exchanged confused glances.

"Erm, can I, uh, help you?" Arthur asked.

The pianist remained silent until the onlookers lost interest and resumed what they were doing. "Yes," he finally said, "You said you had an encounter with Elizaveta?"

Alfred furrowed his brows. "So what if we did? Whaddaya want from us?"

"Please," the man begged, "She is the love of my life, and I would do anything to get her back."

"And what are we supposed to do about it?" the American asked.

"You can find her for me. You can convince her to come back. I love Eliza so much and I'm desperate to have her in my arms again, away from all that danger."

The boys looked at each other. Should they really trust this man? After all, he could just be after the reward money. Though the women gave them less than a pleasant time, they proved to be a decent group of women just trying to make ends meet. Alfred even left with a good impression after being fed and given their company.

"Prove it," Alfred commanded.

"Eliza is a tough one. She's fierce; very, very fierce. Actually, she could be outright terrifying when provoked. But despite that, she's also has a heart of gold."

"Lucky guess," he said.

"She enjoys homosexual interaction between men," the pianist offered.

Alfred searched the back of his mind. When he talked to her, Elizaveta would listen intensely to Alfred's stories about the long, lonely nights with other cowboys.

"I suppose a lot of women enjoy that sort of stuff," the American assumed. "Try again."

"She always has a frying pan with her and often times uses it as a weapon."

Arthur looked at Alfred for his reaction. The cowboy's face twisted up when he recalled her giving him a bruise with the pan after comparing her eyes to a cactus in a failed attempt to flirt with her.

"Okay, so ya know her," Alfred said as he narrowed his eyes, "How do we know yer not just in it for the money?"

"I will personally give you four-thousand dollars upon her return. Please, she knows my name. Tell her that Roderich sent you. If she doesn't want to come back, I wouldn't want to force her. But I am begging you, and I rarely ever beg, to at least tell her that I still love her," the pianist pleaded.

Arthur cocked a brow. "If you really do love her so much, why don't you find her yourself?"

"Because," Roderich sighed, "I've tried numerous times and failed. I get lost easily and I'm a very fragile person. It would mean the world to me if she was back home."

"Why'd she leave, then?" Alfred questioned.

Roderich looked at the ground in discomfort and told his story. "She was a soiled dove, as you know. I, um, hired her often and before I knew it, I started to hire her just to be able to spend time with her. I think she felt the same way. We went on like this until I had spent all my money on her, and then seeing her became very difficult. Then one day, she just left the brothel with several other women. My guess is that she was sick of leading such a life. I'm not asking for your pity, but rather your help. Will you do it?" The pianist gulped in anticipation.

Arthur was the first to respond. "I'm sad to hear that, but-"

"We'll do it!" Alfred cried.

"W-what?" the Briton asked.

The pianist's face lit up. "Oh, thank you so much!" he said as he shook their hands.

Arthur snatched his hand back. "I'm sorry, mister, but please excuse Alfred and I for a second." The angry Englishman grabbed Alfred's wrist and dragged him outside.

"Quit volunteering both of us for these blasted jobs!" he yelled.

"Didja see the look on his face? Poor guy really loved her. Wouldn't ya want someone to help ya if the girl of yer dreams was out robbin' explosive wagons and shit? C'mon, Arthur, he even offered four-thousand dollars," Alfred pouted. That bloody pout. Arthur held on for a little longer.

"Ow! My poor arm!" the Briton exaggerated as he clutched his healing wound, "Why do I have this, anyway? Oh yes, it was from the last time I helped someone!" he spat.

"Does it still hurt that bad?" the cowboy asked worriedly as he pried Arthur's hand off to take a better look.

"No, you git, I'm just trying to make a point. The last time you made me do this sort of thing almost got me killed. I don't think I'm quite on your level of insanity to do it again."

"Please, Arthur!" the American begged as he got on his knees and clasped his hands together to enhance the effect, "I'm supposed to be a hero, remember? How can I rescue people if I don't got my trusty partner?"

"_Partner_?" Arthur fumed. "I'm not even your friend, much less your partner! Do not refer to me with such familiarity!"

Without getting up from his knees, the American moved in closer and hugged the man's waist tightly and resorted to singing. _"Say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa!"_ he bellowed.

"Alfred!" Arthur scolded with a reddening face.

_"Wid de muff-stash on his face!"_ he sang even louder.

"Alfred! Stop it!" the embarrassed Englishman tried to pry the cowboy off of him.

_"Go long de road some time dis mornin'!"_ the American continued to sing. A few men exited the saloon and threw odd glances at the pair. "H-hello, gentlemen," Arthur stammered with a nervous smile as the men confusedly walked away.

_"Like he gwine to leab de place!"_

"Shut your mouth, you bloody yank!"

_"He seen a smoke, 'way up the ribber!"_

A couple of women walked by and giggled.

"For the Lord's sake, Alfred!"

_"Whar de Linkum gunboats lay!"_

"I'll do it!" Arthur gave in.

Alfred looked up at him, smirking._ "He took his hat an' lef' berry sudden!"_

"I'll do it, you derranged American! I'll help the blasted man!" Arthur said even louder.

The cowboy busted out into a huge grin. "Whoowee!" he hollered as he squeezed the man hard enough to make him grunt, "I knew ya'd do it!"

Arthur could only review his past decisions, trying to decide where he went wrong.

Roderich bursted out of the saloon doors, having heard their whole conversation from the inside of the building. He looked at the two, grinned for once in his life, and thanked them as much as he could.

* * *

"Where are we going tomorrow?" Arthur asked with slight annoyance.

"Laramie," an overjoyed Alfred responded.

The next day, they were to depart on a journey to find Elizaveta. Without any idea of her destination, they would first have to contact the owner of her former brothel located in Laramie.

In the darkness of their rented room, the two soaked in every moment of having beds. Arthur was especially relieved because he had never slept on the floor until he moved. Alfred was just happy because he got to sleep in a bed for once. Arthur was just about to fall asleep when...

"Arthur," a voice from across the room whispered.

The Englishman tried to brush it off. Maybe if he ignored him long enough, he would shut up.

"Arthur," Alfred called again.

"What?" Arthur snapped.

"Yer falling asleep before me."

In the excitement of having an actual bed, Arthur almost forgot about their nightly routine. Because Alfred was afraid of being up alone, Arthur had to tell him a story until the cowboy drifted off. Usually, the Briton ended up accidentally falling asleep before Alfred, but the American still valued the small comfort before sleeping. Particularly irritated with him today, Arthur decided to tell a story that differed from his usual fairy and unicorn-filled tales.

"You're a child," Arthur reminded the man before starting his narration. Alfred didn't respond, eager to hear what the flying mint bunny was up to next. The Briton cleared his throat and began. "This happened fairly recently, actually. A ship, the Amazon, was sent on her maiden voyage from Nova Scotia."

"Is this story real?" Alfred interrupted.

"Of course it's real! All of my stories are!" an insulted Arthur huffed. "As I was saying," he continued, "She was sent on her maiden voyage. The first captain to have sailed her, one of the owner's son, contracted pneumonia and died nine days within her maiden voyage. The next captain was in a shipyard to repair her when a fire just happened to break out in the middle of the ship. He was second captain to die on board." Arthur paused to build suspense.

"I don't like where this is headed," Alfred quavered.

The Englishman pressed on with his tale. "The Amazon crossed the Atlantic beautifully without any problems, that is, until she entered the Straits of Dover. There, she crashed into a brig, ending the captain's reign over her. Come to think of it, she was rather unlucky, causing several of her many owners to become bankrupt. The Amazon was a magnet for bad luck. One could even say she was-" Arthur had to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing, "_cursed_." He waited in silence and heard Alfred gulp fearfully.

"Eventually, she was soon in the hands of some shipowners in New York. By this time, she was renamed 'Mary Celeste'. As all seamen know, it's bad luck to rename a ship. Apparently, Americans think they're invincible and decided to change her name anyway. This is when the real misfortune occurs.

"Mary Celeste was en route from New York to Italy. She was carrying thousands of dollars worth of alcohol and ten passengers, two of which were the captain's wife and two-year old daughter. The crew consisted of very capable seamen. One day, a crew member from another ship called Dei Gratia saw a vessel. He gathered the other crew members to take a look at the mystery ship. Receiving no response from the other ship, some crew members of the Dei Gratia decided to investigate.

"Upon approaching the distressed ship, they learned that her name was none other than Mary Celeste. They searched the ship, only to find her deserted. There was no distress signal, just a free spinning steering wheel with nobody to man it. All of the passengers seemed to have simply vanished. Not a soul was onboard.

"If that wasn't strange enough, the cargo, personal belongings, and valuables remained virtually untouched. The ship still had six months worth of perfectly good food and water. Some even say that dinner was out and ready for consumption. Where did the passengers go? Theories range from mutiny to sea monsters. Personally, I don't believe it was either of those two. Both would lead to a disorderly ship and many damages."

"W-what do ya th-think it was?" Alfred chattered.

Arthur mischievously grinned in the dark. "Me? I believe there was a ghost among them. Think about it, who else would have no need for valuables? But I suppose we will never really know, since the passengers were never heard from again. As the saying goes, 'dead men tell no tales'."

There was a moment of silence before Alfred let out a terrified scream.

"That's too scary!" he shrieked. "Please tell me it's not true!"

"I've already told you, all my stories are true."

The full grown man jumped out of his bed and made his way into Arthur's. He hugged the smaller man tightly and burrowed his face into his back. "Ya gotta let me sleep with ya! I can't sleep alone knowing that there are g-g-ghosts attacking ships!"

Arthur could feel Alfred trembling. Despite this, the Englishman was still growing a dark shade of red. "Quit being such a child and return to your own bed," he commanded.

"No! I can't! What if a ghost is waiting there for me to return so he can make me disappear like that crew? What if ya wake up tomorrow mornin' and I'm gone? I don't wanna tell no tales, Arthur!"

The Briton sighed, seeing that he was going to get nowhere arguing with him (like always). "Just for tonight, understand?"

Alfred squeezed him harder. "Thank ya so much! I'm so glad to have a friend like you, Artie!" The man was practically hysterical with joy.

"I'm not your frie-" Before Arthur could finish, Alfred gave the him a big happy thank you kiss on the back of his neck and fell asleep before the other man could recover. Meanwhile, Arthur was pretty much glowing red in the dark. "Bloody Americans..." he muttered to himself.

Wait a minute, _Artie_?

* * *

**AN:** Bandit leader revealed! You probably guessed it before, but oh well. Now the boys are off onto another quest. Hang in there, Arthur! Big 'ole tough cowboy is afraid of ghosts. Isn't that cute?

Free lunch was an actual thing in saloons back then. The French and English usually thought it tasted like shit since it wasn't always fresh

The song Alfred sings is called "Year of Jubilo". It's painfully catchy, though the lyrics aren't really great (but what else would one expect from the 1860s)

The story of Mary Celeste really happened, by the way. SpoOkY

Month of Sundays- a really long time (accurate even today)

Soiled dove- prostitute


End file.
